


Lost Voice, Found Family

by Jisatsu05



Category: The Dragon Prince (Cartoon)
Genre: Anxiety Attacks, Anxious!Callum, Emotional Hurt/Comfort, Found Family, Gen, Hurt/Comfort, Nonverbal Character(s), Nonverbal!Callum, Panic Attacks, Semi-Nonverbal Character(s), Sign Language
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-01-11
Updated: 2020-01-26
Packaged: 2021-02-27 08:07:00
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 4
Words: 5,800
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/22213786
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Jisatsu05/pseuds/Jisatsu05
Summary: (pre-canon) After Callum's first panic attack, he thought he was going to die. A few years later, they aren't much easier to handle, but he has an amazing family that helps him through them. In addition, if panic attacks weren't bad enough on their own, shutdowns that last long after the origional incident make the situation even more troublesome.-anxious!callum / nonverbal!callum
Relationships: Amaya & Callum (The Dragon Prince), Callum & Ezran (The Dragon Prince), Callum & Harrow (The Dragon Prince)
Comments: 8
Kudos: 95





	1. Part 1

**Author's Note:**

> what started as a vent fic ended up being 5000 more words than planned, so enjoy ^-^

The first time it happened, he thought he was going to die. 

“I know you’re bad at this, but you’ve been practicing for months now,” Soren told Callum with a patronizing grimace. “At least, you should be holding your sword properly. You drop it so much because your focus shifts and you don’t pay attention!” 

Callum had become used to his underwhelming performances in the various skills expected of someone with royal status, but he had to wonder exactly how it would be possible for any ten-year-old to so quickly become competent in any of what he’d been taught. Soren’s look of disapproval told him that it most certainly was possible, however, considering he was only three years Callum’s senior. 

Taking a deep breath in hopes of easing the tight feeling in his chest, Callum repositioned his hand on the sword and shifted his weight. “I’ll never learn if you can’t give helpful criticisms,” he said while swallowing the shakiness that threatened to leak into his voice, “so say something I can work with or let’s just go again.”

Soren opted for the latter wordlessly and repositioned himself directly in front of Callum. Before making the initial attack, his eyes narrowed, and he went on to say, “You’ll learn one way or another. Your father isn’t the only one who gets reports back, and I won’t lose his respect because you can’t learn to defend yourself.”

He quickly charged Callum, but due to the suddenness of Soren’s words, Callum was in no position to defend himself. He quickly found himself knocked against the stone ground, sword cast aside. As he prepared himself mentally for another round, he wasn’t prepared for Soren to stomp up closer to him or speak with the tone he did.

“You’re kidding me, right!” Soren yelled with wild hand gestures, “We’ve been out here for hours, but you’re losing the battles faster now.” Callum held his breath. Soren was much too close, and he had to look up from his position on the ground. That didn’t stop Soren’s frustrations, though. “When will you get it that you aren’t the only person your training affects.”

The tirade continued on, but Callum lost focus of it. Immovable stone was below him, Soren was above him, and the pressure he felt to master skills which he simply wasn’t apt for overcame him. At some point, his breathing became shallower and his vision started to tunnel, but all he knew was the panic that engulfed him wholly. He wanted to tell Soren to back off, but even when he opened his mouth, he couldn’t get a single word out. His throat felt as if it were closing up, and in the throes of anxiety, it did nothing to ease his panic. 

He stayed here he was for a moment unable to move, unable to speak, and barely able to breathe. It wasn’t until his breaths started coming as actual gasps that Soren realized he’d lost control of himself.

“Callum,” he called in a much calmer, apprehensive voice. He got no response though. Callum’s eyes were still unfocused. “Prince Callum,” he tried once more. 

At hearing his name once more, Callum’s eyes refocused almost immediately before flickering around the surrounding grounds frantically. He felt as if he were going to die. He couldn’t breathe. Shuffling his hands backward, he tried to move away from Soren. He tried to make more air go into his lungs, but it just wasn’t working.

At this point, Soren was panicked, too. “Guards!” he yelled hastily at the armor-clad figures who stood on the opposite side of the wall behind them, “Guards, get King Harrow!” Trying to calm his voice once more, he said to Callum, “I’m sorry. I’m sorry I yelled. What’s wrong? You’re breathing funny.” 

Again Callum tried to speak without success. 

In waiting for anyone to join them in the courtyard, Soren tried to manage the situation on his own. With a stutter, he said, “Um, Callum. Listen. You gotta breathe, Callum.” Not much changed as Callum managed to bring himself to a sitting position, but he started pulling at the material near his chest as if it would help. “Stop, stop,” Soren said while pulling away Callum’s hands, “You need to try to breathe… copy me.” He maintained his hold on Callum’s wrists and tried to calm his own breathing. He didn’t even know if it would do anything to improve the situation. God, how he hoped it would. 

After a moment, the gasps became less ragged and prominent; though, Callum still wasn’t breathing normally. Soon after, the sound of rushing footsteps could be heard. For a moment, Callum’s breathing picked up again, but it calmed once more when he saw that King Harrow was at the front of the party. He smiled, heart still beating out of his chest but now able to breathe. 

As King Harrow rushes forward, Soren let his hands be replaced by Harrow’s on Callum’s hands. “Callum, what happened? Are you okay?” the king asked. 

He was finally starting to process reality again, but he was still unable to say anything when he tried to respond to the question. The words felt heavy in his throat, speaking took too much energy, and it felt as if there were something blocking his vocal cords. He nodded shakily. 

“What happened?” There was no response. King Harrow turned his head, “Soren.” The boy stood alert. “What happened?”

As Soren relayed what had happened, Harrow helped Callum into a standing position, and the two of them listened — Callum standing close at Harrow’s side, eyes downcast — until Soren reached the end of his retelling. 

“I shouldn’t have yelled at the prince, and I already apologized. I don’t know why he couldn’t breathe, though, or why his eyes were unfocused,” Soren finished off. 

“That’s alright, Soren. Go back inside, and don’t worry too much about what happened today.” 

He seemed hesitant to leave. As he walked past Callum once more, he told the boy, “I’m sorry, and I hope you feel better now,” before making his way out.

Soon after, Harrow and Callum made their way back to the castle and went into the King’s room to avoid castle personnel. “Do you feel better now Callum,” Harrow asked. He got a nod in return. “Do you know what happened out there?” A shake of the head in denial. “You had a panic attack.” Callum just looked at his dad waiting for more of an explanation. “You were having a hard time breathing, and you probably felt like you were going to die, didn’t you?” Callum nodded. “What else can you tell me?” 

That question wasn’t something to which he could respond yes or no. He opted for signing. Nothing the King shouldn’t be able to understand: “I don’t think I can talk.” That was a new development to King Harrow who only thought Callum had been too shaken to speak up until that point. A few seconds later, Callum added, “I’m tired.” 

It had been less than an hour, but he was already frustrated with not being able to physically speak. He wanted to ask for them to continue the conversation later, but he wasn’t sure if his signs were accurate and he was even less sure of if his dad would understand his question. He was forced to rely on implication instead. 

Thankfully, King Harrow was able to read his son well enough and told him, “It’s okay, Callum. Get some rest.” He stood up, “You can stay here to get some sleep, then come find me when you feel more awake. Okay?” 

Callum nodded, thankful for being granted permission to stay in the room, and after being guided into bed by Harrow, he quickly fell asleep from pure exhaustion. 

When he woke up, he felt much more relaxed and much more in control. Pushing himself into a seating position, he thought about how he’d been unable to speak yesterday. 

For a moment, he was scared to test out his voice again. If he’d lost his ability to speak permanently, what would he do? He’d have more to worry about than being the kingdom’s step-prince. Biting the bullet he took a small breath in, and spoke to the empty room, “Hello.” At actually hearing his unsteady voice, a smile made its way to his lips. He tested it again, “How are you?”

Confident in his ability to speak again, Callum pushed the covers off himself and hopped down from the bed. He was told to find Harrow once he felt he had more energy. 

After a bit of searching, he was able to find his dad in his study. “King Harrow,” he called with a knock on the door.

When King Harrow looked up from the paper before him and saw his son, all his work was abandoned as he stood to embrace Callum in a hug. Using his thumb to rub small circles at the nape of his son’s neck, Harrow asked, “How are you feeling now, well-rested?”

“I feel much better now. Thank you for letting me use your room,” Callum answered as he was led toward another seat in the study.

“That room is yours as much as it is mine, Callum.”

He nodded. After a moment, he asked, “About this morning, what happened? Why couldn’t I speak?”

“Do you remember what I told you earlier: you had a panic attack. I spoke with some of the nurses in the infirmary while you were sleeping, and I learned that while most people don’t lose their voice like that during a panic attack, it’s something normal that can happen. That was a symptom of what they termed a shutdown.” King Harrow paused, giving Callum a moment to process everything he heard, then he began again, “That probably won’t be the last panic attack you have.” Callum’s eyes widened in distress at the thought of having to go through it again, but King Harrow continued speaking, “If you’re lucky, though, you’ll only have one or two more in your whole life, but if you have another one, you need to tell me, okay?”

He didn’t answer immediately, and when he did, he didn’t respond to Harrow’s question. Instead, he asked, “What do you mean by ‘if I’m lucky?’”

“Some people have them more often than others, but don’t worry yourself over it. If it happens again, we can cross that bridge when we get there,” the King explained calmly. Callum nodded. “But I still want you to promise me that you will come to me if you have another one, okay? Even if it doesn’t feel the same, I want you to promise.”

A moment passed. “I promise.”

Harrow smiled, “I’m glad.” He placed a kiss atop Callum’s head, and told him, “Let’s get some dinner, and then I want you to rest again until tomorrow morning.”

That was the story of the first time it happened.


	2. Part 2

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> enjoy :)  
> comments and questions are much appreciated, thank you!

Things didn’t become serious until the second time it happened.

For maybe a week or two after his first panic attack, Callum was terrified that it would happen again. He chose to spend more time inside playing with Ezran or reading to him when he wasn’t occupied with studying or training, but as time went on, he stopped worrying about it. His dad had told him that he could go his whole life without it happening again, so why should he worry. 

In fact, he completely forgot about it until he was in town one morning to make a stop at the bakery. Although Callum didn’t understand how Ezran could tell the difference at such a young age, he always wanted the bread specifically made by the town baker, and although usually a task left for servants, Callum appreciated going into town on his own to stock up. That was before his panic attack, though. Now, the memory of it lingered once again at the back of his mind, and he couldn’t help but wonder what would happen if another one took place in the middle of town. That was unbecoming of a member of the royal family, and the image that would send to their people would be unacceptable.

Reflecting upon this, Callum took a calculated breath as he gripped the cotton bread sack tighter. He shouldn’t have felt nervous but he did. 

Making his way inside the bakery, the overhead bell rang as he pushed his way through the door. Upon hearing the ring, the baker looked up with a smile, “Hello! Prince Callum, how can I help you today?”

A slight stutter made its way into his words, but he replied by saying, “I’m here to pick up some more baguettes. Ezran still can’t seem to get enough of them.”

Gesturing to a small stack piled neatly on one of the counters, the baker said, “I’ve just made a fresh batch this morning. Take what you’d like, and I’d bet they’re still warm, too.”

A taking a loaf from the top of the pile, he put it and one other in his bag and thanked the man kindly, “Thank you, sir, and you’re right. They’re still warm!” He pulled a few coins from his satchel and handed them over before making his way back into the streets.

The trip home would have been fine if the townspeople hadn’t watched or interacted with him so much. He told himself that these were all just kind people who wanted to assume their role as citizens properly by greeting the prince, but he couldn’t find a way to ease his nerves. This was his first time back in town since the attack. He’d been too scared to come earlier. Maybe he’d been right to keep away if this was how leaving the castle felt. 

Though he tried to pick up speed, he felt eyes on him, and the people who said hello to him personally were not helping his situations. 

“Prince Callum,” called a frail old woman’s voice, “Please excuse my imprudence, but are you alright?”

Nodding quickly he dashed away. 

Once he was in the outskirts of town, near to the castle but outside of bounds, he sat down against a tree and leaned heavily into it. No longer trying to hide his erratic breathing, he let out loud pants. He pulled his legs closer to him, and he crossed his arms over his knees. 

It couldn’t have happened at a worse time. He had been in public. He was alone. How did something that started off as simple anxiety turn into full-blown panic when there wasn’t even anything to be afraid of? He was in control of himself enough to know that he wasn’t dying, but he was sweating and struggling to breathe and shaky. 

Callum sat there for who knows how long, but eventually he pushed himself to a standing position. After taking some time to lean against the tree and regain his bearings, he headed toward the castle. 

After quietly placing the bread on the table in the dining hall, he made his way to his room. It had been only about three in the afternoon, but this was something he could deal with the next day.

“King Harrow… Can I talk with you?”

Callum had planned this. It was early, just before breakfast. His dad would have been up long enough so as not to disturb him before he was fully awake, but also not so late that he would have already begun his work. Sure, catching his father in the hall wasn’t the most proper gesture, but it would have to do. 

Looking over his shoulder, King Harrow turned to face Callum. “Of course,” he started, “What is it, Callum.”

Uncertainty made its way into his voice after a moment of hesitation. “I think it happened again,” he said quietly, unable to make eye contact. 

It took a second for Harrow to understand what his son meant, but the instant he did, he took a step closer to Callum. With a smile, he extended his hand, and Callum raised his head when he noticed. “Why don’t we head outside and talk in the garden,” he offered. With an uncertain nod, Callum took hold of Harrow’s hand and listened as the man spoke. “When did this happen, not today, I’m guessing?” he asked. 

Callum shook his head, “No. It was yesterday when I went into town to get bread.”

“Are you okay?”

That had made Callum’s head turn.  _ That _ hadn’t been the question he expected to be at the forefront of his father’s mind. Nonetheless, being asked made him feel happy, and although it could have been the heat from sunlight shining onto them, the warm flutter in his chest told him that he simply liked being cared for. 

With a content smile, he told King Harrow, “I’m fine now. I just felt really tired when I got back.”

“Which is why you weren’t present for dinner last night, I assume?” Harrow questioned. Callum confirmed his suspicions with a nod before he added, “You can’t skip meals when this happens okay, Callum. You need to eat something after you have one. Your body needs extra care especially after an attack; the physical and mental shock uses up a lot of energy, and you need to do your best to replenish that energy. First food, then rest.”

Callum nodded in understanding, “Oh, I’m sorry. I didn’t know.” At the time, he hadn’t been able to promise to follow that advice because making that promise would mean that he accepted the fact that an attack would indeed happen again. 

“There’s no need to apologize,” King Harrow said while shaking his head dismissively. “But there is something I do want to ask you.” Callum listened closely, wondering what he’d be asked. “It hasn’t been that long since your first panic attack. Only about a month or so, correct? I told you last time that you might be able to go for a long time without another one, but unfortunately, I don’t think you’ll be that lucky,” he said with a lamentable look in his eyes. “It’s still too early to say, this might have been a coincidence, but I want you to be prepared if something does happen again. Can you make a list of everything you felt during your panic attack from yesterday and the one from a month ago — a list of your symptoms?”

For a moment, Callum sat with disbelief and fear in his eyes. “But… I don’t want this to happen again! It can’t. It doesn’t happen to everyone else, so maybe, I don’t know, maybe yesterday–”

“Callum,” Harrow interrupted. He held onto his son’s hands but kept his voice firm. “We need to talk about this. Would you rather think about this now and know what to expect in the future if it ever does happen again, or would you rather not and then feel more panicked when you don’t know what’s going on or have no one there who can help you?”

With his gaze lowered, Callum said nothing.

This led King Harrow to prompt him again, “What symptoms did you notice during the panic attacks?”

The responses came slowly and one at a time. “It was hard to breathe,” he said quietly, “and hard to focus… My muscles were tight… My heart was beating so hard it felt like I was dying… then I couldn’t speak… and I was sweating and shaking… and it was hard to focus on anything… Maybe there were other things, but I don’t think I can remember now.”

“After the attack was over yesterday were you able to speak?” King Harrow was nervous to hear his Callum’s answer. That could be a long-lasting effect which they would have to workaround. Aside from worrying about his underdeveloped sign language skills, however, Harrow was more concerned about the strain it would put on his son to be forced into a situation where he had to rely solely on sign language since he was no expert either. 

“I don’t know,” he admitted, “I didn’t talk with anyone after what happened yesterday.”

Both of them still felt uneasy, no thanks to the uncertainty behind the situation, but Harrow simply told Callum with a reassuring smile, “Then I guess it’s nothing to worry about, right now.” Opening his arms, he invited Callum for a hug. 

Though still a bit unsure of his place in the royal family, he thankfully accepted the comforting gesture. Before the embrace ended, Callum couldn’t help but say, “I don’t want it to happen again, dad.”

King Harrow only hugged Callum tighter. 


	3. Part 3

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> please take your time to enjoy the 3rd installment of this fic! the final part will be posted next saturday.  
> -  
> reviews, comments, and questions are all very much appreciated as always ☆

When Callum had his third panic attack, both he and the King had to admit that these were no longer isolated events; rather, something that Callum would have to adjust to. 

The overwhelming panic had taken him by surprise, giving him no time to process what was happening. It left him feeling much like he did during his first panic attack, except this time, instead of being on the ground with Soren above him, he was standing in a long hallway of the castle with the nearby servants watching his unmoving form. 

All he wanted to do was free one of the bugs that Claudia was keeping in her room. It was so pretty, and its fear could be seen in its movements as it wriggled around the jar. Now though, the jar was shattered against the floor below, and the insect tried to avoid the shards during its escape. 

“Prince Callum, please step away!” called one of the servants.

He couldn’t process what was said but ended up taking a few steps back instinctively, his hands raising to rest in front of his chest. When his back hit the wall behind him, he heard another servant call his name, and then he heard one of the doors open. 

A six-year-old Ezran poked his head outside the door to see what was causing all the noise out in the hallway, and when he saw the scared look on his brother’s face, he called from across the room. “What’s wrong, Callum?” he asked with worry in his voice, but when he didn’t get an answer, he addressed the question to anyone in the room. “… What’s wrong with Callum?” 

Ezran walked closer and didn’t listen as he was told to step away from the glass, and when he reached Callum he looked up and asked again in a whine, “What’s wrong? Are you okay?”

Callum was shaky and couldn’t find his voice, and he didn’t know what else to do besides fall to his knees and embrace Ezran in a tight hug. As they stayed in that position, Callum wasn’t too sure if his aim was to calm his brother or ground himself.

That was when Ezran heard something strange about his brother’s breathing. “Callum,” he asked shakily. “Don’t worry, Callum. Whatever’s wrong daddy can fix it.” He thought he heard orders being given out behind him. He didn’t know what was wrong with his brother or how to make it better. “Stop crying,” he said as worry seeped into his words, “What’s wrong?” Tears started to pool in his eye, too, out of concern. “Callum–”

Just then Ezran felt himself be pulled away, and he started to struggle. He needed to know his brother would be alright. “Stop! Let me go,” he yelled, “I need to help–”

He saw King Harrow take his place in front of Callum, and he stopped fighting. He, the servant keeping him away, his father, and his brother were the only people left in the hall. Although he wasn’t able to hear, he watched as his father spoke calm words to Callum, then he watched as Callum’s breathing started to even out again and he wiped the tears from his eyes.

“Good job, Callum,” King Harrow told his son. “What do you want to do now? We should move from the hall, and get you some food and water. Would you like to go to the kitchens?”

After thinking for a moment, he fingerspelled slowly so his father could understand: “Amaya.”

Looking to the servant who was still holding onto Ezran’s shoulder, King Harrow told them, “Go find Lord Viren and ask him to call for General Amaya. Under my orders. Leave Prince Ezran to stay here with us.”

The servant lifted their arm from Ezran’s shoulder, and acknowledged the orders with a curt, “Yes, sir,” before making their way hastily from the room. 

Now free to move again, Ezran took his place next to Callum again, this time, holding the other boy’s hand. He looked up and asked his dad, “What’s wrong with Callum?”

“Don’t worry too much. Okay, Ezran,” Harrow told him, “Callum felt nervous, and that’s what you were seeing.” He took hold of his sons’ hands. “Something that might not be scary to you or me might be really scary for Callum, but that’s okay because Callum is a strong boy. He also has you and me helping him, right?” Ezran nodded as Callum smiled. “So even when things are scary everything will be okay.”

“Yeah!” Ezran exclaimed. “I’ll stop anything big or scary, then Callum won’t be afraid anymore!”

A silence second passed, then Callum started to laugh. Such childish courage. That was exactly what Callum needed to hear. He rubbed circles onto the back of Ezran’s hand with his thumb and signed thank you. 

Their father was happy to translate. 

He was sitting on a couch in his father's study drawing when he heard a knock against the door behind him. Dropping his pencil and paper, he turned his body to the point where his legs rested on the chair as well in order to see the door fully. 

Aunt Amaya walked in first with Gren behind her. He smiled and waved hello to his aunt before acknowledging Gren with the gesture as well. Callum invited them in and all three of them took a seat, and Aunt Amaya started signing with Gren as the interpreter: “How are you feeling? King Harrow told me about what happened this morning before I came here.” 

“I’m good now,” he replied with his limited signing ability. “But I want to ask for your help.” 

Immediately Aunt Amaya knew her nephew wasn’t talking aloud. His mouth and facial features were moving in the same way hers did when speaking, in the way which someone completely reliant upon sign language would. Gren, at her side, obviously had no trouble noticing this. 

“What happened,” she asked Callum.

He sent a quick glance toward Gren before hesitantly asking Aunt Amaya, “Can Commander Gren leave?” Immediately after, he directed his gaze to Gren and sent a curt apology in his direction. 

“Of course,” he directed at Callum before continuing, “If it is okay with General Amaya?” The general dismissed him with a nod, and he took his leave just outside the door, leaving Callum and Aunt Amaya in private to continue without interruption. 

Amaya took a few steps closer to her nephew and ran a hand caringly through his hair. After a moment, she retracted her hand and asked as simply as she could phrase it, “Why aren’t you talking?”

Callum stood thinking on how to respond, then he took his time in saying, “My signing still isn’t good, so I wrote down what I need to say.” Although he knew that something about his grammar was mistaken, he waited for a response from Amaya that would hopefully encourage him to retrieve his note. When it came, Callum walked over to his sketchbook which remained resting on the armrest of the chair he'd been sitting in, and after flipping backward a couple of pages, he handed the book to Aunt Amaya. 

Rather than hover, he moved a few paces away and fiddled with his hands awkwardly as she read the note explaining what had been happening over the past couple of months. Although Aunt Amaya had heard word from the King of Callum’s few anxiety and panic attacks, no one other than his father and brother knew that he had the tendency to become nonverbal after these instances. 

_I think dad’s told you already, but I’ve been having what he calls panic attacks lately. Each one doesn’t last for very long, but after really bad ones,_ ~~_I’ve been having trouble_~~ _I haven’t been able to speak. I don’t know why, and it’s really scary. I know it shouldn’t be. If someone as strong as you is able to go through life without speaking or hearing, I should be able to live without speaking once in a while. I want your help. I don’t think I can stop these attacks, but I want to be able to talk with you and dad and Ezran… Can you teach me sign language?_

She raised her gaze to find a nervous Callum looking anywhere but at her. Placing the book on the armrest once again, she beckoned Callum to come toward her. She pulled him in for a hug, and after it broke, she gestured for the two of them to take a seat. “Of course I’ll help you learn sign language,” she signed, “But listen to me, don’t be afraid of not being able to speak sometimes.”

Callum cut her off and mimicked her sign for afraid. “What did that mean?” he asked.

Repeating the motion once more, she fingerspelled it and then continued what she was saying. “Don’t be afraid. You can speak, so you don’t know what comes next when you can’t. I can’t speak, so I can tell you that what’s next isn’t something you need to be afraid of.

“I can teach you, Gren can too if you want, and if you need help you can ask your dad to call for help. We’ll come.” She smiled, “You don’t need to be afraid.” 

He smiled timidly, thankful for her kindness, and he signed, “Thank you.” Although Callum had so much more that he wanted to ask and tell her about, he was absolutely trapped by the boundaries of his language barrier. He just wanted his voice back, but Aunt Amaya told him not to be afraid. 

The two spent roughly the next half hour finding a time when they could practice, and Aunt Amaya even gave Callum some time to write down some specific words that he wanted to be translated right then, words that he felt were crucial to know in his day to day life. As time passed, the apprehension in Callum’s posture and movements faded away, and the two fell into a comfortable pattern of back and forth conversation.

Well, as comfortable as it could be with the language barrier, but that was soon to change.


	4. Part 4

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> here's the final part! I hope each of my readers have found some form of comfort from reading this fic, and to anyone suffering from clinical anxiety and / or nonverbal instances, please remember that you are brave. much braver than you believe <3  
> -  
> reviews and kudos are greatly appreciated  
> -  
> thank you all once again for taking time out of your lives to read this fic :)  
> see you in the next one!

He’d stopped counting by now. The number didn’t matter to him anymore.

“Hey, Ezran!” Callum called as he entered the door to their room.

Eight-year-old Ezran came bundling from his side of the room with Bait huddled in his arms. “You’re back!” He said excitedly as he jumped to take a seat on Callum’s bed. “Bait and I missed you.”

“It’s not my fault you slept in. I had somewhere to be,” he said while putting his bag down. His voice became very animated during his next sentence, though, “I learned a new sign today that I thought you might really like. Do you wanna see it?” 

“Yeah,” Ezran replied with a nod of his head, and he put Bait to his side so he could copy Callum. 

“Okay, this is the sign for ‘frog’ or ‘toad,’” he looked to Bait, “This one’s for you, Bait.” He made the sign then helped Ezran copy it afterward. Callum hadn’t even realized he never learned the word to refer to Ezran’s friend until it was taught to him; he’d gotten so used to simply referring to Bait by name.

Ezran turned to Bait, and while repeating the sign over and over, he told the glow toad, “If you ever see Callum doing this to you, go with him, okay? He’s calling for you.” Bait nodded then hopped once again snuggly into his owner’s lap.

When Callum had his first few panic attacks, Ezran was too young to understand what was going on. All he knew was that his brother was crying or having trouble breathing or not speaking to him, and not knowing was terrifying. Now, a few years later, everything made a bit more sense. Sure, he didn’t understand why it happened, neither did anyone else, but he knew what he could do to help. 

When he was seven, Callum had already been studying sign language for almost a year. One day he’d called Ezran to sit down next to him. “Hey, buddy,” Callum had started, “do you want to learn how to talk like Aunt Amaya and I do?”

“Without words?” he asked. Callum nodded, and Ezran seemed uncertain. “That sounds hard,” he started, “I don’t know anything at all.”

“That’s okay,” Callum told his brother calmly, “Let me tell you something similar to what Aunt Amaya once told me. Okay? Don’t be afraid of not being able to speak. As someone who’s been there before, and I can promise you that ‘what comes next’ isn’t something to be afraid of.” After giving his brother a moment to take in that information, he asked, “So do you want to try it? I’ll be here to help you.”

After a moment of hesitation, Ezran told Callum, “I’ll try it. If both you and Aunt Amaya can do it, I can, too.”

“Great! First, I’ll show you how to fingerspell your name,” Callum said with a smile on his face.

“So how do I do it?”

Since then, Callum was truly able to stop worrying about what would happen during the times he went nonverbal. Sure the anxiety likely wouldn’t go away any time soon, but that didn’t matter to him, as long as he had his family by his side. 

With time, both Ezran and King Harrow learned a fair amount of sign language, Ezran picking up the skill with much more ease than their father. The two boys had even taken to using sign language for fun when around other people. To them, it was their ultimate secret language: a secret language for outsmarting other people and a secret language that showed their love and determination for each other. 

Although born of necessity, learning sign language allowed Callum to unlock a new way of thinking and a newfound closeness to his family which he’d never realized he’d been missing before. Despite the troubles he’d been through, he came to understand a love that couldn’t be expressed in words. He learned that sometimes words weren’t needed at all.

**Author's Note:**

> reviews are very much appreciated, thank you!


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